


my eyes have seen you

by glossolala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comeplay, Dean Deals With His Feelings, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Castiel, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Lap Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Porn With Plot, Post-Series, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossolala/pseuds/glossolala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wonders if maybe it’s the lack of anything else to worry about for the time being, bar his part-time car mechanic gig and the usual monster of the week (although nowadays it’s more like monster of the every other month), that’s making all his latent wants express themselves in the most ridiculous ways possible. And apparently his wants prominently feature Cas. And touching him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my eyes have seen you

**Author's Note:**

> Been writing this on and off for ages now (cause I quit the show for the second half of season nine and now i'm back on board dammit). This started with a picture of Misha with longer hair and ended up here somehow. Title is from The Doors song of the same name. This is the longest thing i've ever posted and also my first time posting anything explicit, be nice! //shakes in my boots//
> 
> Cross-posted on [my tumblr](http://glossostiel.tumblr.com). Thanks for reading~ Feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome.  
> 

Dean is leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee and trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes when Cas walks in. He passes Dean, glancing over with a small, unassuming smile and saying “Good morning, Dean,” as is per usual for him. Dean mumbles a “Mornin’, Cas,” into his mug in return.  
  
Morning never was Dean’s time of day. His body wakes up in the morning on its own, like clockwork, from the couple decades of somewhat disciplined, full-time hunting he’s got under his belt. Moving into the bunker and then later closing up Heaven and Hell for good (and essentially freeing up his time, big time) had helped him wind down a bit and so more often than not, mornings found Dean bleary-eyed and shuffling around in his fuzzy slippers and robe, while Sam —before he’d moved out of the bunker— used to go out on offensively early morning runs, energy and enthusiasm practically radiating off of him.  
  
Cas, on the other hand, seems more pleasant than Dean is about waking up, but he still looks a bit groggy and disheveled. Looking over him quickly, Dean notices that Cas is barefoot, in boxers and a shirt that are a bit too big for him. It seems that he hadn’t even shaved or combed his hair. Not that Dean's complaining. Cas wears the just-rolled-out-of-bed look pretty damn well.  
  
Cas waits for the water to boil and runs a hand through said hair, moving the unruly strands back; and Dean's never noticed before but apparently when Cas's hair grows out, it develops a subtle curl that falls over to one side. For whatever reason, Dean's fixated on that minor detail and he finds himself unable to look away, his mouth gaping a little stupidly around the lip of his mug. Cas yawns and rubs his eyes and then he looks over at Dean with raised brows, curious.  
  
“Dean? Something wrong?”  
  
Dean attempts to hide his reddening face by tipping his cup back, seemingly casual, and clearing his throat after swallowing back a swig of his coffee then saying, “Yeah, no, uh— I’m good.”  
  
Cas turns away to grab a cup from the cupboard. Dean's traitorous fingers twitch to reach out and run his hands through Cas’s hair, which is by all means definitively not okay.  
  
“Stop it.” he mutters to himself. So far, him eyeing his best friend appreciatively has been a discreet solo activity, and he’d like to keep it that way.  
  
“Did you say something?”  
  
“No, nothing. I was just uh... surprised at how long your hair has gotten."  
  
“Is that so?” Cas has turned fully towards him now, his eyes narrowed and his smirk growing by the second. He self-consciously runs a hand through his hair again and then tucks a strand behind his ear when it doesn’t stay in place and flops over to one side again. The kettle starts chirping and billowing steam behind him.  
  
“Uh, yeah?” _Smooth, Winchester. Real smooth._  
  
“And?”  
  
“Nothing, it’s good. It suits you.” Dean feels his face get even warmer.  
  
Cas's eyes widen slightly and then he turns back to the kettle to lift it off the stovetop, and Dean can see him smile down at his mug as he stirs sugar into his earl grey. He turns back to Dean, both hands cupped around the mug and says simply, “Thank you, Dean,” before walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway in the direction of the living room.  
  
Dean puts a hand over his eyes and groans inwardly because apparently his brain has decided to revert back to his tongue-tied, preteen self without asking him first. When did Cas’s hair get that long anyway? It seemed to have happened overnight or something because Dean was pretty sure that he would have noticed before now. Not that he's looking at Cas _that_ closely. Nope, definitely not.  
  
It wasn’t just that, though. When Cas was still full-on angel mojo’d he seemed to constantly maintain the same length of hair and stubble without even trying. But now it was the fact that he felt relaxed enough to let go of himself like that that made Dean look and wonder. It was his slight stoop and the way he'd wring his hands slowly, how his toes curled against the cold concrete floor. The way he’d smile at him with his eyes in that Cas way of his and how he’d laugh now, at the TV and sometimes at something Dean said, when once it was a rare thing. It was the way he wore humanity so well nowadays, like he’s finally settling into himself. Something about all that made Dean ache to wrap himself up in him so he could feel Cas’s warm, solid self against him and know without a doubt that Cas was there; that he wasn’t going anywhere.  
  
Dean shakes his head at himself and tries to put whatever this is away for the time being.  
  
He takes his own mug and shuffles to the living room as well, which is a great idea of course, because what’s the worst that could happen? Other than Dean doing his foot-in-mouth routine again, that is.  
  
Fuck it, it’s Sunday and he's gonna sit his ass down and watch something easy and mindless, regardless of whether or not there is an enticing ex-angel sprawled out lazily on the couch right now.  
  
He steels himself and walks over, stepping around Cas’s cup on the floor, throwing out a: “Move over, lazyass.”  
  
Cas just scrunches his nose up at him and huffs, then moves up and leans forward to afford Dean some space, only to fall back on him with his head in Dean’s lap, facing the TV, when Dean sits back. Dean stares, agape, at the side of Cas’s head and raises his arms up as if in surrender, not knowing where to put his hands now that he has a lapful of rumpled, sleepy Cas.  
  
“Uh, Cas?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“What does it look like I’m doing, Dean? I’m trying to relax, and you should too. Your legs are stiff and it’s making my face hurt.” Cas actually sounds indignant.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes and looks up to the ceiling, firing off a quick and silent prayer to whichever absent deity to lend him some patience to deal with this infuriating man. His thoughts go over and over Cas’s actions and what they could mean and what Cas wants from him and what he’s trying to say, only to be stopped short by Cas complaining grumpily:  
  
“Dean.” Of course, only Cas could load that one word with so much intent. Dean relents.  
  
“Alright, alright.”  
  
Dean actively tries to lessen how tense he is, and Cas just curls up even more and sighs contentedly. Dean finally lowers his arms, and places one on the arm of the couch and the other he stretches across the back of it, being careful to not touch Cas. Even if he really kinda wants to.  
  
He settles in to watch a wildlife documentary about the journey of a herd of whales or something that Cas has open on the television, and actually finds himself appreciating the weight of his friend’s head on his legs, feeling a pleasant, lazy ribbon of warmth unfold through his body.  
  
Dean wonders if maybe it’s the lack of anything else to worry about for the time being, bar his part-time car mechanic gig and the usual monster of the week (although nowadays it’s more like monster of the every other month), that’s making all his latent wants express themselves in the most ridiculous ways possible. And apparently his wants prominently feature Cas. And touching him.  
  
He almost does it, too. At one point, when Cas’s shoulders are rising and falling as he breathes as if in sleep, he hovers a hand over his head and almost sinks his fingers into Cas’s hair, strangely feeling an ache in his chest, and he stops himself at the last moment. He does this a few times before chastising himself and stopping, trying to distract himself with the TV instead.  
  
Dean’s stomach takes a plunge when he hears Cas exhale through his nose like he’s frustrated; he’d thought Castiel was napping.  
  
“You can do it if you want to.”  
  
”What?” Dean’s heart takes a leap after his stomach.  
  
“You can touch me if you want to.”  
  
He rolls over and faces Dean, his eyes darting back and forth on Dean’s, a hand coming up to touch the hem of Dean’s shirt tentatively, the gesture almost asking for something.  
  
“You can have the things that you want, Dean.”  
  
Dean knows he looks like a deer in headlights right now.  
  
“I— I don’t know what you’re saying, Cas.”  
  
Cas frowns at him.  
  
Dean’s lying, of course. He knows exactly what Cas is saying. Somehow, once again, Cas has gotten straight to the heart of the issue without any preamble, in that unabashed and uncomplicated way he approaches everything.  
  
Dean wants to get up, to run, but he's pinned in place, forced to face whatever this is. It was fine admitting that he enjoyed looking at Cas, but wanting him? His stomach flips again.  
  
Everything in his being is shouting no at him because this is too close, dangerously close, to things he doesn’t ever want to think about or consider. His opposing this, whatever it is, isn't really about Cas being a man —or occupying a man’s body, at least— or even about Cas being well, Cas. It’s just... It’s about letting himself want things, right? It’s about whether or not he deserves to have those wants at all. It’s about the status quo, about what’s always been expected of him; _keep Sam safe, take care of your brother, take care of your family. That’s your job, Dean._ That mantra is so deeply-ingrained in him that it’s practically a part of his make up by now. In the last couple of years he’s been surprised to find that he’s allowed himself to be surrounded with more and more people that aren't Sam. Sam isn’t his only family, he knows that, and him leaving Dean —and he tries not to think of it that way— to live his own life made that even more clear. Dean knows that there are other significant people in his life now, people he gets to care for and protect. Not blood, but just as important. Family, but by choice. Cas happens to fall naturally in that category.  
  
And so, as with everything else that he has to protect, he places him on a pedestal, puts him out of reach from things like him.  
  
It would be a lie to tell himself that wanting Cas has been some sort of recent epiphany, because if he’s honest with himself, he’s felt that inexplicable pull towards him for a long time. Maybe it started when Cas had surprised him and said ‘we’re making it up as we go’ all those years ago; or maybe ever since he’d willingly thrown everything he knew away for him that first time. Maybe it was in Purgatory. He doesn’t know anymore.  
  
Although it’s a dusty, rarely-visited thought that stays in the back of his head, he does know that on some level Cas has been treating him like he matters from the very beginning. Not because a higher power said he mattered in the grand scheme of things, but because Castiel himself thought the world of Dean, for whatever reason. Every time his mind tries to gently push memories at him of all the countless times Cas has either shown him or told him how important he is, he tamps those thoughts down with a reprimand to stop being ridiculous.  
  
His resolve to keep up the facade of bullshit dissolves, his breath stops in his throat, his voice sounding small, and he says Cas’s name like it’s the only word he knows. Cas’s eyes soften and his eyebrows turn up. He gets up and sits on his knees, facing Dean and far too close, and he just stares like he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking.

“Cas.. Cas, you know me. You know what I’ve— this, this isn’t—” Dean says with a weak laugh, “I’m no good for —”  
  
“I do know you, Dean,” Cas interrupts, seemingly frustrated, “I know that you’re a good brother and a good friend and a good man—”

“Cas, listen—”  
  
“No, Dean. For once, you’re gonna listen to me. I know that you’ve faced impossible odds in your life and despite whatever you think your transgressions are, I know that you’re the best man I’ve ever known. You have no idea—” He breathes in; steels himself, “No idea just how important you are to me, do you?”  
  
Dean freezes for a couple seconds while he processes and almost starts panicking but Cas, ever the mind-reader, puts one hand on Dean’s chest and something about the warm press of Cas’s hand against him calms him, steadies his shaking heart. He closes his eyes and breathes. _He means this, you know he does._  
  
Dean feels the touch of knuckles under his chin, tilting his head up. He opens his eyes and looks at Cas, a small smile on his lips, both an inordinate amount of fondness and a touch of sadness written clearly on his face. “Dean, this isn’t really about me. This is about you. What is it that you want?”  
  
Dean knows what he wants, _who_ he wants, but the words are stuck in his throat, and they don't come out and he can't swallow past them.  
  
Cas just waits, his eyes unfalteringly patient. He looks immovable, as if he could wait forever. And he probably would, Dean thinks to himself.  
  
_Dean Winchester, you fucking idiot._  
  
His anxiety rushes out of him in an shaky exhale, and he pushes forward and his lips touch Castiel’s. Cas makes a small, surprised noise that makes Dean’s heart dip a little, but then he quickly reciprocates. The soft meetings of their mouths are tentative and slow at first and Cas sighs against Dean’s lips, as if in relief; as if he’s been wanting this for a long time.  
  
He pulls away to survey any damage done and finds Cas looking extremely pleased (and quite a bit flushed) but with a line between his brows and his eyes narrowed like he’s disgruntled that they’d had to stop. Dean can’t help but laugh about it.  
  
Somehow, the twisting mess in his chest had begun to untangle itself every time they’d shared a breath between them. He realises Cas is waiting for him to find his bearings, despite the fact that he sees him squirming a bit in place (which is just fucking adorable, in Dean’s opinion), so he jumps back in.  
  
Dean hauls Cas up by the biceps and further into his lap until he is sitting side saddle on Dean’s legs and, naturally, Cas grumbles a little in between kisses about ‘the audacity of men manhandling ex-angels of the lord’ or something. Dean huffs a laugh against Castiel’s mouth and he can feel Cas smile against his in turn and his hands slide up to cradle Dean’s face gently as their lips meet again, this time more openly and with less of the hesitancy from before. Castiel tastes sweet and a little bitter, like his tea, but there’s an underlying, inherent sweetness to him that Dean never could’ve imagined by himself. Dean had never let his thoughts stray this far and into this much detail, but he sure wasn’t expecting kissing Castiel to be like this: like Cas means it, like he’s trying to say something; deeply and with no holds barred, sinking into it, sinking into Dean. Dean feels the urge to pull him even closer, until there's no space in between them because it hits him how far apart they’d been all this time and he wants to make up for how wrong that is as quickly as possible.  
  
Cas makes a small needy sound in his throat when Dean pulls at him and it just urges Dean on, sending a wave of heat up his spine, and he pushes his hands up Cas’s shirt and splays them against his back, feeling Cas's muscles shift deliciously under the pressure of his fingertips. He presses wet, sucking kisses to Cas’s neck as Cas starts to moan quietly and drags his hands through Dean’s hair, touching his neck with his wide palms and slipping long fingers down the collar of his t-shirt. Stubble scratches against his lips and Dean loves it, and loves how he can feel the roughness of it on his tongue as he licks up his neck. Cas lets out a noise, louder this time and Dean feels Cas’s hot breath hitting the side of his face.  
  
”Wait,” Cas pulls away from Dean, putting his hands on Dean’s shoulders for balance and reaches one leg over his lap to straddle him and slot their hips together.  
  
Dean looks up at Cas, eyes wide in a question: _Is this okay?_ But Cas just licks his lips and smiles, like the tease that he apparently is, and he slides his warm hands under Dean’s shirt to pull it off, flinging it behind him —it lands on the TV. Dean smiles secretly at his eagerness. He puts his forehead to Dean’s, closing his eyes, and wraps his arms around his shoulders and starts rocking gently against him, stealing the breath from Dean’s lungs and igniting something low in his belly. Dean’s cock is now pressing hard against his sweats, and blessedly, Cas changes the angle of his hips some so their cocks line up together perfectly. Dean can hear Cas’s breath catch in his throat and he feels this overwhelming pull to get closer, so he cants his head up and licks into Cas’s parted, hot mouth and Cas opens up immediately and returns the gesture with fervor, tongue dipping into Dean's mouth eagerly, kissing him deeply enough that he honestly feels a bit dizzy. His hands scramble to grab on to Cas’s ass cheeks, —and oh, okay, they’re definitely a handful or several— and he pushes their hips together, and the friction is so good it makes his head start to float. Cas moans into his mouth and Dean could swear that it vibrates all the way down his spine.  
  
Cas snakes a hand down in between them, and he runs his fingers right under the waistband of Dean’s pants, and then, forgoing any tentative pressing like Dean was expecting, Cas just shoves his hand down his tented boxers. He lightly grips his cock and starts to stroke him, slow as anything, teasing a thumb over the head, and Dean’s hips snap up of their own accord, his lips leave Castiel’s and his head falls against the back of the couch and he groans, low and long. Leave it to Cas to surprise him, even at this stage. Apparently though, the feeling is mutual. Cas stops for a second and looks into Dean’s face like he's discovered something new and then his face breaks into a grin, the bastard, which makes Dean blush something fierce.  
  
“I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long. You’re so beautiful like this, Dean.”  
  
“Cas, fuck— please,” Dean's probably turned a couple different shades of red, both at the praise and at his own words. He hadn’t realised he was already at the stage where constructing a coherent sentence was no longer an option.  
  
“I know. I want to do this for you." Cas tightens the hand around Dean's cock. "Let me take care of you.”  
  
Dean sobers for a moment, his eyes meeting Castiel’s startlingly clear blues, and as his warm words wash over him, he has this strange moment of clarity where he realises something.. and he doesn't have a name for it yet, but something shifts just slightly between them, as if they're finally on the same page. He feels his heart thud harder against his sternum in response, his breaths coming faster. Cas bends down, one hand on the other side of his head, palm on his fevered skin and fingers in his hair, still whispering praise in his ear, over and over like a desperate man’s prayer. Dean feels his face and the space behind his ribs warm, but the longer Cas keeps talking the more obvious the small knot in his throat makes itself and the more his nose burns and his traitorous eyes water, embarrassingly enough. It’s too much, far more than he’s ready to hear or feel, although he knows a part of him has been starving for it and that same part is now glowing under the praise. Cas seems to sense Dean’s distress in how he tenses momentarily, and he pulls back, but Dean holds on to him and whispers a low, "Cas— I'm okay."

Cas moves to distract him, kissing the soft part of Dean’s neck, right under his ear, and stroking one hand through his hair softly while the other jacks him off with a tight fist, occasionally twisting his hand to wring sharp gasps from Dean’s throat then collecting those gasps from his mouth with kisses, like they’re a prize to him.  
  
Dean feels his limbs go looser and more pliant under Castiel’s hands. His own hands are clutching Cas's hips, and he’s started lazily pressing kisses at his neck because honestly he’s just feeling fucking amazing and his brain’s kind of fried right now. But Cas has got his hand wrapped around his cock, his teeth nipping lightly at his ear, occasionally just murmuring Dean’s name in that soft growl of a voice, and Cas is the reason he feels so good, and he really wants to do to Cas what Cas is doing to him. He moves his hands down to Cas's groin and he wastes no time in pulling down his boxers just enough to grab his full, heavy cock in one hand and he strokes him, fast, no preludes necessary, while the other hand runs along Cas’s shivering stomach. Cas gasps and leans his weight into Dean more heavily, one arm circling his shoulders.  
  
“Dean! Yes, oh—” Cas’s voice shakes around his words, and Dean feels an unbelievable swell of joy at hearing Cas start to lose it too, panting and keening. Their mouths find each other again and they’re rocking against each other, in as much of a rhythm as they can find, faster and faster. Cas pulls away a little, stiffening, his hand gripping Dean’s shoulder tighter. He squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth falls open in a long moan, and he arches his back up, coming thick on Dean’s chest, and Dean is looking up at him, taking in how gorgeous he looks as he comes when he feels a hot wave rise up and crash back down inside him and he follows him right after, spattering his own come all over Cas’s hand. Cas collapses into Dean, trembling, both of them breathing hard, and their come sticks to them, but Dean is so tingly and content that he can’t bring himself to care.  
  
Dean’s arms circle Cas loosely and they just breathe for while, letting the warm post-sex buzz blanket both of them. Dean nuzzles his nose into Cas’s hair and Cas laughs a little.  
  
”I wanted to take care of _you_ , you ass.”  
  
“I can’t help it if I’m so good that you came first, Cas. Maybe with more practice you’ll catch up one day.”  
  
Cas looks up sharply from where his head is laying on Dean’s shoulder, and seeing Dean’s teasing smirk, his face shifts from the unimpressed lift of a brow to a fond sort of irritation. He swats Dean’s arm lightly, who just chuckles at him and kisses the corner of his frowning mouth. Cas’ hand lingers and he lets it trail down his friend’s chest, going through the drying come between them, his fingers coming away sticky. He looks at them briefly, curious, before putting his fingers between his lips one by one and sucking lightly, then dipping his head down, his pink tongue coming out to flick at the droplets left on Dean’s belly, all while looking up at him from beneath the dark crescents of his eyelashes. Dean’s pretty sure he makes some sort of unmanly whining noise.  
  
Smirking up at him in return, seemingly victorious for now, Cas lays a trail of open-mouthed kisses up his torso and neck, and Dean leans into it, humming his pleasure at how good it feels to be paid close attention like this, till he reaches his lips and kisses him again. Dean gets a little rush when he realizes he can taste the both of them, musk and salt, on Cas’s lips. Cas moves away some, after placing a last lingering kiss to Dean’s mouth, then tucks himself and a slightly dazed Dean back into their respective pants. He lies back down lengthwise on the couch and pulls Dean down with him and then rearranges them so that he’s half on top of Dean, pressing his face into his chest, one arm snug around his waist. Who knew? In addition to being one sexy bastard, Cas is also a cuddler. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud and not that he’d had much of a chance to do it before, but he’s a bit of a cuddler himself. He wraps his arms around Cas, one hand languidly tracing lines and swirls up and down his back and running through his hair. Cas makes a satisfied little growl and melts further into Dean’s side.  
  
Dean looks down at Cas’s handsome face, thumb gently stroking his temple now, where the lines around Cas’s eyes are smoothed down in rest. He can’t help the surge of affection in his chest that he's finally letting himself feel properly and he bends down to press his lips against Cas’s cheek. The corners of Cas's mouth turn up and he wrinkles his nose, before his face relaxes again.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
"Hm.."  
  
"You— how, uh, how long...?" He gestures between them.  
  
Cas sits up some, his eyes downcast while he collects his thoughts.  
  
"I can't remember anymore. It's been a while since I first realised what it was I had been feeling. I don't think I understood it at first," He looks back up at Dean, smiling a little, and his thumb goes back and forth against Dean's ribs as he speaks. "It felt like I was sick at times, but then I realised that that only happened when I was away from you for a long time.. which ended up happening a lot, I suppose. When I'm around you, I feel.. it feels like my insides are made of light again."  
  
Dean almost chokes on his own saliva. "Cas, you can't just say that.. Shit."  
  
Cas quirks an eyebrow and gives him a look that very much says, 'Oh, no? Watch me.'  
  
He feels a nervous, warm buzzing in his belly, and if he's being honest with himself for once, he's actually scared, and he's faced heaven and hell and everything in between a dozen times over, so that's saying something.  
  
But, he also knows that he's gone —very gone, in fact— on the man lying next to him.  
  
They gravitate towards each other, nothing like comets colliding but more like waves to a shore, their lips meeting again, and Dean carefully pushes everything he's feeling into it, hoping that Cas will understand. He seems to, by the way he says Dean's name against his mouth, breathy and almost in awe. Dean pulls Cas closer, tucking him tight against his body, chin against the top of Cas's messy head of hair.  
  
In the back of his mind he’d convinced himself that this would feel strange but he's not surprised that it doesn’t. Castiel is a sturdy weight beside him and his breaths on Dean's collarbone are quickly warming them and the space between them, and most importantly, he’s here. He’s here in Dean’s arms and it feels inexplicably good. It feels right.  
  
He closes his eyes and inhales slowly.

 


End file.
